Thoughts from Mark "Hat" Rackley

I’m Pink Lady Apple Yeggs and my friend, and brother-in-law, Deviled Yeggs suggested that I record each project that I set up in the hopes of reforming the people who continue to work for Lily the Pink Enterprises.  If for no other reason, it would show how God is at work.

This year was a year to celebrate Thanksgiving.  GrandPa and Gwen returned last Thanksgiving Day, and we have had many welcome additions to the Lily the Pink family.  Jemima and Easter Yeggs moved in while Cassie Beech married my son, Boaz and moved out.  Joseline and Kevin moved in, along with Thomas and Catherine, and Blake and Penny.  Then the singles are Pink Pearl Apple (just for work, still living with her grandmother), Hannah Bandanna, Bart Clarkson and Tamara Collins.

Of course, the most important addition was my Daddy, Ashmead Kernel Apple.  He got here just in time for Pink Sparkle Apple Yeggs to be born, the next to the youngest of our growing number of babies and preschoolers, but she is mine and Scrammie’s.  Pink Sparkle, or as Kanok calls her “Spa-Cool.”  Kanok says something and others follow, even the grown-ups.  Our youngest addition is little Karl Kaiser, Jim and Stasya’s newborn.

We had a few weddings.  While losing Cassie Beech Yeggs, we gained Angus MacDougall, Joseph and Mary, and the Caseys spend a lot of time here.  And thinking of those that spend a lot of time here, you would have to add Dr. Kildare (checking the manmade weather inside the Crystal Mountain and spending time with Maggie, Naomi’s old high school ‘friend’). And then the regular visiting teenagers Margie Justice and Samuel Farquharson.  As a result of Missy’s wedding party matchups, a few are getting serious, but no one has popped the question yet.

Another big arrival is the amount of turkeys ready for roasting.  Zuzka’s hairbrained scheme of adding poultry between our Crystal Mountain enclosure and the lower apartment buildings has grown to a stable size that meets our needs, but we have not turned it into a commercial operation yet.  We do supply the mission downtown with eggs.  Catherine ver Waarloosd has fattened twenty of the birds.  That will feed all of us at Lily the Pink and the mission folks downtown.  Since they do not have much “fat”, maybe fattened is the wrong word, but these birds were large, each over twenty pounds.  She is taking a class, and her professor has been advising her on how to maintain the size of the rafter (a group of turkeys).  And just when I thought things were getting out of hand, Zuzka added rabbits, for the fertilizer.

Tom and Cat ver Waarloosd have teamed up with Gwen in cooking all twenty turkeys, but they need half the ovens in the bakery, slow cooking.  They must have had a similar recipe from either end of the valleys.  Roast the turkeys, well-sealed to capture all the juices.  Have fresh-baked corn bread ready.  Mix the cornbread with turkey drippings, chopped celery, bacon, stale bread or Tom’s German hard rolls chopped up, some with and some without onions, maybe one without celery, and poultry seasoning.  Then bake it and you have dressing instead of stuffing.  It can’t be ‘stuffing’ because the birds are already cooked.  But a lot of everything since we were having about two hundred and fifty for Thanksgiving dinner.  All the employees and their families or boyfriends.  All the mission families here and the single mission people downtown.

Joseph Jones had a brief message about thankfulness that would be projected on a big screen at the mission, and on the video screens in the Lily the Pink control rooms, even in Washington state where we purchased all the food for those working and living there.  We had the process idling, but certain things were non-stop.  The crews were not working very hard, but they had to keep an eye on the process while they had their meal in the control room.  They would get the messages and the children’s play that the children had been working on with their director, Mary Sheltie Jones.

For just those at Lily the Pink employees, I was going to give them all a little bonus.  That way, they had something for buying friends a Christmas present.  We still had so many ladies who felt damaged from their years working for Baldwyn.  Joseph made a point to get to know each lady and he tried to address her concerns.  With many it was going to be a slow process, and then, they might be too old to go into the dating game.  Most of them could not conceive of dating again.  The pain was too raw, even after these two and a half years.  And I said that Anna Hill could do the same bonus thing with her people in Washington state who were mostly all reformed sex workers also.  It would be based on the profits of each division.

But whether the employees had a love interest or the starting of a family, Lily the Pink was family.

We had two judges coming to the dinner.  Judge Farquharson had been a regular visitor, especially since Menzie and his Samuel were dating, but Bess Trueblue, who had given the police their warrant to emancipate Lily the Pink from prostitution, was going to see inside the building for the first time since then, before Zuzka’s ideas came to life.  I hope she liked what we have done with the place since she had walked through the facility soon after the raid.

With Gwen, Tom, and Cat all busy cooking and baking, Daddy came into the room.

Daddy said, “Pinkie, are you worried about tomorrow?  Here, let me wipe away the tears.  What has you upset?  Everyone has their job, and they are getting it done.  Mary Jones is pulling her hair out because the children do not respond to instruction too well, but that is going to add to the charm.”  Ash, my Daddy, took a tissue from my desk and wiped my eyes.

“Daddy, I was just making an inventory of all the things that have changed since this time last year.  Gwen, GrandPa, Catalina arrived by this huge helicopter that half-filled the shipping and receiving parking lot.  GrandPa was so sick.  He was on oxygen.  He had a nurse taking care of him, but then she was injured.  The doctor that was with them took her to the hospital, and from what I hear, they might be getting married soon.  That’s the doctor and the nurse.  Both were with the Navy.  But GrandPa is up to his old shenanigans.  He gets winded easily, but his strength is back.  And you are here.  I am now a Mommie for three different families.  I gave birth to Boaz decades ago.  I have Pink Sparkle, Kanok, and Joon.  And I have two fully functional business enterprises, here and in Washington state.  Anna Hill and her family are flying back now.  She has Jayne Crane and Wyatt Slaughter with them.  I have a feeling those two will make a wedding announcement at the dinner.  Jayne lived all her life here until last year, but now her life is along the Columbia River Gorge.  And Wyatt Slaughter is a handsome man, sheriff of the county where the cider house is located. … But, Daddy, I don’t think I deserve all this.  I work hard to get rid of the stain of the money, but I cannot help thinking that I would have never had this opportunity of doing good if it were not that the original assets came from criminal activity.”

Daddy put his arms around me and said, “Isaiah said that the best we could ever do on our own was like filthy rags.  God knows your heart, Pinkie.  He knows that you paid back everything borrowed from Red Delicious.  You give far beyond ten percent to the church and mission and other charities.  Please, Pinkie, let God wash your assets as white as snow, just as He does our sins.”

I tried to talk, but my voice was muffled as Daddy hugged me tightly.  “Daddy, have you been reading Isaiah lately?”

Daddy simply laughed.  “You are going to be fine, young lady.”

I replied, “Daddy, I am not that young.  I was afraid I was too old to give birth to Sparkle.”

Daddy pushed away but held me by my shoulders.  “Don’t you mean ‘Spa-Cool’? Besides, if you succeed in convincing me that you are old, that makes me ancient.  So, accept what I say, young lady.”

I went for another hug.  “Yes, Daddy.”

The door suddenly burst open.  It was Mary Sheltie Jones.  “Your presence…  Oops.  I’m sorry.  Should I go out and knock first?”

I laughed, “It’s a little late for that.  Can’t a daughter give her Daddy a hug?  You are interrupting something very important, but that just gives me the excuse to hug my Daddy again.  Now, what was so important?”

Mary took a deep breath before talking.  “The cameras are all set.  None of the children are cranky.  The entire nursery is in attendance, at least half on stage.  We want to do a dress rehearsal of the play for tomorrow and record it.  You know what they say.  Good dress rehearsal, bad performance, and vice versa.  I can film both and make one good program and add a few bloopers.  Everyone is asking for you to be there now and tomorrow.”

I looked at Daddy questioningly.  He said, “Don’t let me stop you.  I want to see it too.  Mary and Jemima have cooked up this entire thing, and up until now, I have no idea what they put together.”

When we got there, Jemima was on stage, seated in a rocking chair, holding Pink Sparkle in her arms.  She was dressed in black as if she was mourning.  A dozen children were sitting around her, waiting for her to tell a story.

When she saw me coming, Mary yelled, “Action!”

Aunt Jemima said, “Come on, children, let’s sing our song.”

Everyone sang, “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb.  Mary had a little lamb; its fleece was white as snow.”

Kanok asked, “Aunt Jemima, what does that song have to do with Thanksgiving?  We eat turkey and dressing!  And all I see here is a couple of goats!”

I groaned.  They are typecasting my daughter to be the noisy questioning type.

Aunt Jemima smiled, “That song, really the poem called Mary’s Lamb, was written by Sarah Josepha Buell Hale.  She was an author, magazine editor, and activist.  One of her first novels was Northwood: Of Life North and South.  She talked about slavery.  It was one of the first novels that talked about that, and her being a woman, it was doubly interesting.  She would go on to write more novels, cookbooks, and books of poetry, one having the poem, Mary’s Lamb.  A pastor in Boston asked her to be the editor of Ladies’ Magazine, but she preferred the title, editress.  She had been married to David Hale, and she had five children before her husband died.  She wore black dresses for the rest of her life to signify eternal mourning, but she worked hard to use her magazine for good causes.  She helped fund the Bunker Hill War Memorial by asking each person who bought her magazine to donate one dollar.  When that wasn’t enough, she put on a craft fair in Quincy Market.  The fair was a big hit and very profitable.  They say that if she were alive today, she would be Oprah and Martha Stewart combined into one.  She also used her magazine to introduce the readers to a variety of women authors, helping them get published, especially women educators.  In that way, she promoted reading and education.  She even became one of the founders of Vassar College.  But she lamented that the nation only occasionally took out time to thank God for their blessings.  We had a day of thanksgiving in 1777 after the American victory of the Battle of Saratoga.  Then a few years later George Washington established a day of thanksgiving after the constitution was ratified.  John Adams and James Madison followed suit, but no one made it a national holiday.  The local thanksgiving holidays were never at a set time.  So, Sarah Hale started writing letters.  She wrote to the president at the time, Zachary Taylor.  Then to Millard Fillmore, Franklin Pierce, and James Buchanan.  No luck.  But then, with the country in the midst of war, she wrote to Abraham Lincoln.  He thought it fitting to have a day of thanksgiving to heal the wounds of war.  At about the time of the Battle of Gettysburg, Lincoln accepted Sarah Hale’s request.  He established the last Thursday in November to be Thanksgiving Day, a national holiday.”

Thursday Wednesday, in a Native American costume, jumped up and pointed to himself.  “That’s me!  The last Thursday!”

I groaned and whispered, “More typecasting.”

Aunt Jemima smiled, “Sarah Hale had heard the traditional story of the first Thanksgiving in 1621. …”

Governor William Bradford (Michael Rowe Casey) came onto the stage with his wife (Arabella Dalton) in full pilgrim clothing.  He said, “Half of our colony has died.  If it were not for the Wampanoag tribe, we might all have died.  They taught us how to fish and hunt and they shared corn with us, and we have a bountiful harvest.”

His wife (Arabella) said, “Let’s invite the Wampanoag chief and some of his men and have a harvest festival.”

I was thinking that I had heard that William Bradford’s wife never made it to America, falling overboard, as the first Pilgrim casualty, but maybe Michael Rowe needed help.

William Bradford said, “Yes, we will have a three-day celebration with the Wampanoag.  It will be a corn harvest festival.  Have our best hunters bring fowl.  Have our fishermen bring fish and lobster.”

Aunt Jemima narrated, “So, the hunters gathered geese.  They might have had a turkey, but geese were easier to get.  They had fish, and they had lobster.  But then, Chief Massasoit arrived, and his braves brought five deer.”  As Jemima said this, pilgrims brought props that looked like roasted geese, venison steaks, and plastic lobsters and put them on the table.

Then Valin stepped on the stage in full chieftain headdress.  His arms were folded as if he was in charge.  He said, with a lot of prompting, “I am Massasoit.  Chief of Wampanoag.  I am greatest king in this land.”

Aunt Jemima, with all the children now playing their parts on stage, she narrated to the audience.  “King Massasoit may have been the greatest king, but there were other tribes, and the Pilgrims agreed to protect them if the Wampanoag tribe would teach them basic survival skills.  It was an unsettling treaty between the people of the land and these outsiders from Europe, but they were willing to celebrate.  Sarah Hale called the Wampanoag people ‘Indians’, but we would call them Native Americans today since the Wampanoag were not from India.”

Valin yelled, with no prompting, “Hey, I AM from India!”  He raised his folded arms, still folded in front of him, and then dropped them abruptly with a grunt.

I groaned again.  They cast him in the role just for that line, but it was a good one.

Aunt Jemima continued, “As I said, it was an unsettling treaty.  And for three days, they feasted and partied.”  At this point Aiyana came on stage and handed each of the Wampanoag a gourd shaker.  And she danced a dance, probably from Chickasaw tradition, but it did not matter.  Only Sarah Dalton followed her step for step.  Thursday, Friday and Saturday Wednesday, along with Grace Grunge tried to do the dance, but they were all out of step.  The other “little Indians” just jumped and shook their gourds.

When Aiyana finished her dance and the children settled down a little, mostly sitting in front of Aunt Jemima.  Aunt Jemima concluded.  “After the first festival, the Pilgrims did not have a festival every year, and after that first year it started with days of fasting before the feast.  It had become a religious festival, patterned after the festivals in the Bible.  Sarah Hale brought all this to President Lincoln.  Thanksgiving became the start of the Christmas buying season, which helped the economy.  President Franklin Delano Roosevelt moved the holiday up a week to help boost the economy even more, but finally they changed it to the fourth Thursday in November.  And that has nothing to do with Thursday Wednesday, since he is the first and last Thursday.”

Then Kanok jumped up, “So, now we can praise and thank God for everything!”

And all the children said, “Happy Thanksgiving!”  And typical with little children, not at the same time.

Mary said, “And that’s a wrap.  I need the videos from every angle uploaded.  I am going to do the editing on this one myself.  Since we are talking about thanksgiving, I want to thank everyone for their help.  And I see the dirty looks from the camera crew.  You get thanked and paid!  University pay scale, but paid nonetheless.”

When I got up applauding, I noticed Gwen behind me.  She said, “Valin has been saying his line for more than a week now.  Context is good, but we sit down to eat and ‘Hey, I Am from India!’  Actually, seeing the little play, it helps a lot.”

Credits

The story of the first Thanksgiving mostly comes from the History Channel website, but pieces from other websites also, like the Smithsonian.  As typical with our modern upheaval, there are differing views on that first Thanksgiving, even though there is not much recorded other than from Pilgrim chronicler Edward Winslow.

In writing Pink Lady’s counting of her blessings, I have tried to sift through the stories over the past year, over fifty of them.  I might have missed someone here or there.

The recipe for turkey is what I learned from my father.  The seal is crucial.  No curious looking, in that juices escape and with everything hot, the seal may not be properly reestablished afterwards.  I set the oven about 205 or 210 and let the bird roast overnight, eight hours or more.  The meat falls from the bone (when I finally check the bird, I twist the leg bone and it should come out clean), not pretty for the table, but well done, and there is usually two-three inches of juices in the roasting pan.  I use a rack to prevent the turkey getting too ‘juicy.’  Roasting all night means the cornbread for the dressing must be baked beforehand.  The turkey self-bastes as the juices evaporate, rise, get trapped in the foil (or other) seal, and then drip down onto the turkey.  I use salt, pepper, red chili pepper (if you like some heat) and poultry seasoning, but I have experimented with a few other spices over the years.  This year I am going to use a trick I saw a professional do, slide my spice laden hands between the meat and skin.  The spices should soak into the meat better, rather than get trapped on the skin.  While the turkey cools before carving (a must), the other dishes can be prepared.  The dressing description above is about right.  My wife never measured anything, and she mixed it with her hands to feel the consistency of the dressing before baking it, basically drying it sufficiently since everything is cooked except the onion and celery.  I think my wife caramelized the onions one year, but the celery needs to be mostly raw for the crunch.  Then more turkey drippings would be used in making the gravy with the cooked giblets (heart, liver, and gizzard) from the turkey (I make a giblet boat out of foil, underneath the bird) so that they are cooked in the juices to keep the giblets moist and still easy to find), finely diced (maybe the liver less finely since it falls apart.  The others are chewier.)  Traditionally, the sides are a green bean casserole, yams (usually with a lot of brown sugar and tiny marshmallows), and cranberry dressing.  Some people have mashed potatoes, but with the dressing and yams (or sweet potatoes) more potatoes become too much.  Dessert in the south might be pumpkin pie, but usually pecan pie or even pecan pie with chocolate chips.  I say ‘traditionally’ since probably everyone has their own traditions, but this kind of covers the dishes that are displayed in advertisements and Norman Rockwell paintings.

Note: One of the errors in cooking that morning is that you get rushed if the meal is at lunch.  Three or four things in the oven at once and you are forced to carve the bird while it is too warm, meaning the slices will become uneven and messy.  And then you sit down to eat with your heart racing due to the last-minute rush.

A sad note about traditions: Our two boys loved the jelly cranberry sauce.  We would carefully remove it from the can, and they would fight over who got the serial number stamped on the can, which became visible in the cranberry sauce only if we got the jellied cranberry sauce, without the berries.  The sad thing is that the serial number is applied by a rubber stamp these days.  That little tradition is now over.  But I have enjoyed the homemade cranberry sauce with berries.  Without the serial number tradition, you can use what you like.